haroun flipped head first like a shaolin monk, down the stairs
i caught him in my hands
fear of permanent trepanation evaporates,
he's a dancing fiddler upon the chair
there's a splinter on his tongue
and all the apples in the bowl are bruised
he hugged the vacuum today
sucked on dust gorged broom bristles
and blotted points unknown with poop juices
one year old, free as the wind
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